


With my Thread & Needle

by CosmosChroniker



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dreams and memories, Knitting, canon character death, yes I ansolutely did make myself cry writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:21:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmosChroniker/pseuds/CosmosChroniker
Summary: Somehow, in the dreambubbles, Porrim still dreams. There was a time and place, in another universe, where she had lived and died - protected and rebelled. And although Porrim knows she didn't live that life, somehow, she did.





	With my Thread & Needle

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Beforus Zine: https://beforuszine.tumblr.com/  
> I was very grateful to be asked to contribute, and I highly recommend checking out the work of all the wonderful artists and writers who contributed! The full zine can be accessed here: https://goo.gl/JEQT8g
> 
> (The formatting through the zine is better, as here I have tried and failed to code the text colour I used to emphasize the difference between Porrim's thoughts and the Dolorsa's memories.)

 

*

**There was a crowd. There always was. No matter how many times this dream came around, so too came the onlookers, gaping and gawking at the spectacle.**

 

_ Is this is a dream? I’m dead. How can I dream if I’m dead? _

 

_ Vision, then. You can see them where the bubbles are thinnest. Windows to another world. _

 

_ Memories? _

 

_ No. Never that. _

 

**From her vantage point - hands roughly bound behind her back, knees stinging from where she’d been shoved to the ground, cracking and slicing open the skin - she could see everything. But only one figure was in focus.**

  
  
  


**_Who killed Cock Robin? “I”, said the Sparrow_ **

**_“With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin”._ **

*  
  
  
  


 

Porrim jerked awake, shuddering as the fist of terror - wrapped around her heart and squeezing it into a hollow nothingness - loosened its grip.

She didn’t think she had really been  _ asleep _ , but sometimes when the endless night that was their afterlife dragged on for too long, she would get this hot, fuzzy feeling behind her eyes, as if her thinkpan had overheated. Then, she’d drift away into these (memories?) dreamscapes, where images from another life would grip her until she could find the strength to pull free.

Porrim took a few deep breaths, then stretched out her limbs like a luxuriating purrbeast and rotated her wrists and ankles until some of the strain in her limbs abated.

She took the time to splash her face with water from the sink, and then took a long, cool drink. She’d have a long,  _ hot _ drink later when she could face asking someone for a tiny sip of blood, but for now the cold water made her feel more alert, and considerably less rattled.

_ Not as if I particularly need to eat or drink. I’m dead. _

_ It’s still nice, though. And if my dream taps are still working, I’m damn well going to drink dream-water. _

Composed again, Porrim found a hair-tie, and swept her mane of glossy black hair up into a bun to keep it out of the way. Since she’d told everyone she was taking some afterlife-alone-time, she might as well work on her project again.

 

Gathering her materials, she made herself comfortable on her favourite chintz-y chair ( _ yes, alone it’s a monstrosity, but placed in front of the accent wall in my minimalist living block it’s a marvellous centre-piece. And really,  _ really _ , comfortable) _ .

_ The activity should be easy, really,  _ she thought as the unfamiliar needles slipped in her clumsy grasp,  _ it’s a simple enough process. _

Cross one needle over the other; poke one needle through the loop of yarn on the other needle, wrap yarn round that needle, then pull it gently off so the yarn was now on the other side. Rinse and repeat. Except every stitch required so much concentration, and if she didn't concentrate she began to drop stitches, and wound up with a line of uneven, bobbly wool.

It just wouldn't  _ do. _

Porrim sighed, and put the practise knitting down. How was she to make a jumper if she couldn’t knit a simple quilt patch without making these silly mistakes?

This was all Kankri's fault really. Why on  _ earth _ he felt it necessary to go parading around in his trousers - hoiked up pretty much to his armpits and held in place with that ghastly belt...

_ Not that this is a fashion-thing, really, _ a treacherous part of her mind whispered.

 

Porrim was hardly one to avoid uncomfortable truths - she had no problem about enjoying a number of on-and-off flings, and didn't mind the gossip they started. She didn't mind talking frankly and honestly about her needs as a Rainbow Drinker. She  _ certainly _ had no issue with arguing against Kankri's vacuous crap he liked to peddle under the guise of "social justice" - despite the fact he had no real understanding about the subjects he repeatedly martyred himself for.

_ But admitting she was trying to learn to knit in order to…… _

 

_ No. _

 

She shuddered. Porrim wasn't quite ready to face that head on. Instead, she flicked through the crafting manuals she had, plus a few knitting patterns and notes she'd found in the dream bubbles. She'd even seen a few video tutorials saved on an old husktop, which had helped her learn how to “cast on”. However, the videos were frustrating - the elderly human lady in the video could  _ click-clack _ through her first three rows of knitting in the space of a few seconds. She wasn't even looking down at the flashing needles! It was galling. Particularly as Porrim prided herself on her dress-making abilities. She had natural good taste, could pick out someone's colours with a cursory glance, and had been whipping up various items of  _ haute couture _ clothing since she was practically a grub.

Still, she believed herself capable of learning to knit, and it wasn’t like she had better things to do.

_ (Although she had half a mind to see if Aranea fancied a quick -) _

No. She could only put up with so much more nonsense from the Insufferable. Better to get this done first, and  _ then _ find some new way to amuse herself.

 

Honestly - why did Kankri have to be such a grub about this??  _ Yes _ , it could get cold in the dream bubbles - but there was no need for him to go about his annoying daily cornering of victims to lecture while his teeth chattered, and his fingers turned almost blue.

Why she even gave a shit she could hardly fathom -

  
  


 

*

**A child tottered over to her, raising his little arms up as a plea for comfort. His knees were skinned, and dangerous, bright red blood stained his trousers.**

**“Here now little one, how did that happen?” She said, smiling to show him it was okay, while her mind went through turmoil. What if someone had seen? What if the drones had followed him? Had he left a little spotted trail of damning crimson blood leading right back to their current hide-out?**

**“Playing,” was all he mumbled, and after the cuts were cleaned and bandaged - and, of course, given a magic kiss - they were forgotten.**

**Though not by her. The second she had lulled him off to sleep, she followed the little red dots, wiping them from the slick stone of the cave floor, and liberally churning the sand and dirt outside, until she was confident they would be safe. For now, at least** .

  
  
  


**_"Who caught his blood?" "I," said the Fish,_ **

**_"With my little dish, I caught his blood."_ **

*  
  


 

 

_ That wasn't me!  _ Porrim thought furiously, shoving the thought (the memory?) away. _ Well it was in a way - but I'm not her. And Kankri's certainly not him. So why do I care? Why can't I stop myself from caring? _

She sighed and picked the knitting up again. You learn from your mistakes, isn't that what they said?

Needle into stitch, wrap the loop around, tuck it under and pull it out and over to the side. Rinse, repeat.

She stuck at it for a while, starting to get into a rhythm; needle, loop, stitch, needle, loop, stitch -

But while her hands were busy, her mind was perilously unoccupied, and as she stubbornly forced herself to knit, the images kept coming.

 

 

  
  
*  
  


**The little boy, younger here, his eyes red and sparkling with happiness. Toddling over on his little legs, he almost tripped on the hem of his cloak. He smiled when he saw her, his teeth as sharp as the two nubby horns on his head - that is to say, not very sharp at all.**

**He was a creature of smooth, blunt edges. In a world where everyone else was jagged and sharp.**

**She let him toddle a few more steps then swept him up and spun him in the air, before cuddling him close and pressing a kiss to his soft little cheek.**

**He laughed - a delighted bubble of joy, and her heart ached. She was at once so full of love, and so full of fear for her little one. How could this soft little being live long in a world of callous violence?**

**It shouldn’t have to be this way, but it was for now. And for now all she could do was ensure he made it through to the end of every night.**

 

**Being a Rainbow Drinker, and a jade-blood, certainly helped. She was able to venture out in the midday heat, collecting food and supplies under cover of the blazing sun. Jade-bloods were taught from the very first day of their schoolfeeding to care for the mothergrubs. So, it was second nature to care for this little one, no matter how unnatural his ruby red blood was to her.**

**How long could it last though? That was the eternal, terrifying question that she refused to answer. The drones were ever-searching to cull those too weak, or too different. The indigo-bloods and the purple-bloods would kill him without a second thought if they were ever discovered -**

 

**The thought of losing her little one; the thought of never hearing his happy burbling laughter, or seeing him toddle on his chubby little legs, or having his tiny soft hand touch her luminescent skin with wonder -**

**It didn’t bear thinking about.**

  
  
  
  


**_Who saw him die? “I”, said the fly,_ **

**_“With my little eye, I saw him die.”_ **

  
  
*  
  


 

 

Porrim realised with a start that she was silently crying while her hands went through the motions of  _ needle, loop, stitch _ . It really shouldn’t affect her this much - it didn’t even happened to her for fuck’s sake!

But apparently the vision of that tiny troll was enough to tug at her heart-strings, not least because she knew how the story ended.

She shuddered.  _ That. Wasn’t. Me. _

 

She had seen Kankri die, that much was true - they’d  _ all  _ died, that’s why they were all here... But sometimes when she looked at him, for a moment - just for the tiniest moment - he was  _ him _ , and everything in her cried out with joy.

_ You’re here! You’re safe!  _ The words forced their way up her throat and it was all she could do to clack her teeth together and hold them tightly behind her lips.

…Kankri could tell, though. Porrim was sure. Oblivious and self-important as he was, she knew there were times he could tell that she was looking at him through a “mother’s” eyes.

 

It infuriated her. It was so sick a joke even a Makara wouldn’t crack a smile. She had spent her whole fucking life - and several sweeps after it ended - trying to fight against the ridiculous idea that all jade-bloods are meant to be a lusus-figure - mother-figure - whatever you wanted to call it.

She’d always felt the weight of that expectation pushing down on her shoulders, or trapping her like burning shackles. The fact that everyone in her society took one look at the jade-bloods and assumed they would be happy to work with the mother grubs -  _ expected  _ them to work solely for the propagation of the troll species.

The cloaked patriarchy she saw back on Beforus, the law enforcers and the politicians – and the agency and power those of the higher blood-castes dominated by men - had always incensed her. Yes, they had been ruled by a fushia blood empress, but as it turns out, she was merely a pawn of  _ yet another  _ man. Then there were the jade-bloods – mostly women, and all required to work as carers of the mother grub.

 

_ I never wanted that to be my role, but as it turns out, in another life, being this "mother" figure was my entire identity. Oh certainly I was a disciple, I fought for change, and paid for my rebelliousness... But the end of the day, it turns out I left the breeding grounds only to walk straight back into that maternal role. _

_ Even in this life I end up being a Maid of Space. And what do Space players do? They create! They propagate! At least “Maid” was a powerful class. But it was as if the game was taunting me – or, worse, had examined me in some way and decided that, however much I may try to fight it, this was who I really am under all my protestations. _

_ And then the joke to end all jokes – the vast glub, if you will. In this timeline, in my personal connection with Kankri? He thinks my view of gender inequality isn’t worth speaking about, let alone fighting for. _

 

Porrim laughed bitterly, and looked down at the knitting in her hands. She was getting better, that was for sure. The rows looked neater, and the stitches tighter – but she was still deciding whether Kankri even deserved the gift she was planning. He really was the most annoying, arrogant, vociferous,  _ nuisance – _

In fact, that was enough. Decision made. She wasn’t going to pander to the pretentious little git any longer. He wasn’t  _ him _ . She wasn’t  _ her _ , and that was that.

  
  
  


**Who’ll be the parson? “I,” said the Rook,**

**“With my little book, I’ll be the Parson.”**

  
  


*

  
  
  


 

“Kanny, if you’re that cold, go find your hive – or anyone’s hive for that matter, and put another layer on,” She snapped, after her brief conversation with Kankri had, once again, been interrupted with shivering, teeth chattering, and over-the-top gestures of rubbing his hands together.

“Porrim, please, how many more times must I inform that I do not enjoy that form of address - and by the by, you  _ do  _ realise you interrupted me mid-flow?”

“Did I?” she asked with scathing sarcasm that sailed merrily right over his nubby-horned head.

“Yes. I was just explaining that it’s important to consider –  _ brrrr _ , excuse me,” he said, pausing to rub his arms vigorously in the chill air of the dream bubble.

Porrim lit her eyes up for the sole purpose of making sure he could see her roll them.

“Sorry,  _ Kanny _ , this is going to have to wait – I just remembered I have… plans with… someone.”

“Really, Porrim,” he said, almost stamping his foot in childish exacerbation, “Here I am, freezing my horns off while generously donating my time to explain some basic principles of social justice – and you’re going to run off to – to – to see someone else?” He finished meekly, his cheeks flushing with that muted pink that meant he’d got to the end of his train of thought and found himself at a conclusion he found embarrassing.

As a matter of fact, Porrim just wanted to get away from his droning, but she got a kick out of him unable to talk about her concupiscent relationships.

“I’ll come find you after I’ve…  _ seen _ someone. Okay?” She raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot. It was a little mean, but she’d only wanted to say hello, and had ending up being trapped for what felt like hours.

“I… yes. Okay. I suppose that’s alright,” he mumbled, shivering miserably.

_ Oh for fuck’s sake,  _ said a voice at the back of her mind,  _ You’re going to go work on the jumper, aren’t you? _

_ Only to shut him up!  _ She argued back, as her swift steps took her along the winding route that led to her hive. (Well, most of the time. Dream bubbles were frustratingly fickle, after all.)  _ I’m definitely not doing it because I feel a – a pang of longing whenever I see his stupid smug little face. NOT because I’m trying to mother that self-righteous little grub – _

_ With his tiny, useless horns, and weak, skinny little form, and that tiny smile he does sometimes when he sees me – _

_ Shit. Shut up. _

_ (Not that. Never that.) _

  
  


Once back in her hive and curled up in her favourite chair, Porrim lifted the half-complete jumper from her little projects–basket and examined it carefully. Each stitch was neat and secure, with no strange little loops from dropped stitches. It was, in fact, very good work. Her five separate practise pieces had served their purpose beyond simply driving her up the wall every time she’d made a mistake.

If she could get the main body finished  _ (today? In the next few hours? Does time even exist anymore? _ ) soon, it shouldn’t be too hard to get the sleeves attached, and then she’d be done.

She looked at the sleeves where they were carefully folded in the basket. Bright, ruby-red, and coiled, looking for all the world like some dangerous hiss-beasts had wriggled their way into her hive… Would Kankri be pleased she’d chosen the colour of his mutant blood? Or would she get a lecture on insensitivity for highlighting his outcast blood colour for all the world to see?

She sighed and started click-clacking way at the next row. Impossible to know, really. At any rate it would be good to get the damn thing done soon – because just the sight of the colour could send her mind back to…

 

  
  
*  
  


**Porrim was back in a dream again, bound and shoved to the ground while the crowd - many headed, multi-horned and vicious as only a passive bystander looking on at a great injustice could be - jeered and cheered. Beside her, however, was one once-melodious voice, now hoarse and constricted with grief, sobbing so hard the dirt before them turned to mud.**

**She couldn’t take her eyes off the hanging figure before her, but she knew who it was next to her, weeping herself dry. The girl. The beautiful, joyous, always laughing girl, who’d made her little one – now her big one (soon to be her dead one) so happy. She’d pulled him out of his shell after sweeps of hiding, smoothed the rough edges from her gruff boy who had always had to be defensive and suspicious of strangers. She was a ball of energy, and besides making her little one happy, she’d been instrumental in the revolution – drumming up support, arranging secret meetings and keeping her little one grounded. She’d made sure he never let his movement go to his head, and any pomposity could be deflated with a few gentle teases.**

**Now, all the sweeps of joy and laughter and hope and love, were about to be swept away – and she couldn’t protect them, any of them. Impotent fury clenched in her chest until she thought she’d suffocate. And beside her the sweet girl with the warmest smile and the dirtiest laugh sobbed until she retched, and all the while the crowd looked on -**

  
  
  
  


**_"Who'll be chief mourner?" "I," said the Dove,_ **

**_"I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner."_ **

  
  
*  
  
  


 

 

There now, wasn’t that better? She forced herself to look critically at the work before her, while trying to banish the sound of Meul – no – the  _ Disciple’s _ tears from her mind.

With the main body complete, she just had to work on the collar, then cast-off and attach the arms. Simple.

...After all, she was  _ allowed _ to feel protective of Kankri, right? That’s how people felt about their friends,  _ right? _ It wasn’t that she was giving in to the role society had carved for her because, let’s face it, “society” was a meaningless concept in this surreal after-life they were all living - or rather,  _ existing _ in.

It certainly wasn’t that she had allowed herself to be goaded by this game.  _ Maid of Space?  _ Hah! She was no maid –

_ Made of Space. As in, there’s an empty hollow in that never-beating heart of yours – one that you simply  _ have  _ to fill – _

_ No. No, it wasn’t that at all _ , she thought furiously, detaching the end of her wool from the ball with her teeth.  _ I’m just a benevolent person, giving my good friend Kankri a present, in the hope that he’ll shut the fuck up about suffering from the cold -! _

_ Because he’s never actually known suffering, has he? _

_ He’s never  _ actually  _ been persecuted, or on-the-run. Never been starving in some dark, dank little hiding place, clutching his love to his chest to stop her panicky tears from giving them away. Never seen his best friend dragged from him screaming and thrashing – or seen his mother beaten and put in chains – _

  
  
  
  
  


*

 

**“I did not spend my evening making breakfast for you to turn your nose up at it,” Porrim said, a playful smile dancing on her lips, as she watched her little one – all grown up now – laughing and whispering with the Psiioniic.**

**“I’m eating it!” he protested, shovelling a spoonful into his mouth, and then nearly choking when he saw Psii do the same – but somehow managing to spill half of it down the front of his yellow jumpsuit.**

**“Hey, ma!” the Disciple said, as she practically skipped into the cave. “Look  - I was only out there an hour or so, and I only went and found a whole herd of antlerbeasts!”**

**“Meat?” Psii said eagerly, more of his breakfast dripping off the ends of his fangs and splatting onto the floor.**

**“Yes, I have meat, you disgusting boy,” she said, with a sweet giggle, before darting over to wipe Psii’s face with her sleeve.**

**“Eurgh – gerrof – I’m not a grub!”**

**“Yeah? Well you eat like one!” She laughed, and then leapt back acrobatically before his playful swipe could get anyway near her.**

**Instead, it knocks over his friend’s breakfast –**

**“Oh really now!?” Porrim sighed.**

**“It wasn’t me!” The Signless yelled, raising his hands up** **_not guilty_ ** **, and trying to conceal the huge grin threatening to take over his face.**

**“Enough!” She yelled, though she too couldn’t quite hold back her mirth, “If you’ve got carcasses, you can gut and skin them outside, and then the boys can help you hang them up round the back. Then you are going to** **_wash_ ** **,” The Disciple scrunched her nose in disgust, and Porrim continued louder, “And then – and only then – are you going to get a bowl of my delicious stew. Which the boys are currently spreading all over the floor.”**

**“I’ll help with gutting!” her little one announced, jumping up and hurrying the Disciple back outside the cave. Porrim can’t help but smile. Young love.**

 

**“Sorry for the mess,” Psii said sheepishly, “The stew’s really good – I mean it! It’s just these stupid fangs- ”**

**“Oh, is that it? I thought it was because you were too busy mucking around to appreciate all my efforts,” she laid the back of her hand against her forehead and pretended to swoon, but he seemed unsure if she was joking or not – crouching hesitantly over the bowls and spilled breakfast. “I’m kidding,” she said with a chuckle, and he relaxed.**

**“Phew – thought you were gunna put** **_me_ ** **in your next meal for a moment there.”**

**“Don’t tempt me,” she teased, with a wink. “Now help me clean this up – we’ve got a big day ahead of us!”**

  
  
  
  


**_Who’ll dig his grave? “I”, said the Owl,_ **

**_“With my pick and shovel, I’ll dig his grave.”_ **

  
  
  
*  
  
  


 

 

“Told you I’d come find you,” Porrim said softly, suppressing a laugh when Kankri jumped half out of his skin.

“Oh-! Porrim, you scared me – I -”

“I have a present for you,” she said, jumping in before he could get going with whatever lecture he had in store for her today. “I hope you’ll like it.”

She’d thought long and hard about whether to wrap it up, but decided that would be making too big a deal out of the whole thing. Instead, she held the finished jumper neatly folded under her arm, and handed it over.

Kankri stared at it, his fingers moving over the soft wool.

“It’s a jumper. Because you’re so cold all the time.” He was looking up at her now, with a funny little furrow between his brows.  _ Great. He hates it. The red was a bad idea. That or he thinks this is another pale solicitation. (And it’s  _ not _?)  _ “I found some knitting needles and wool in one of the dream bubbles, and you know I like making clothes -”

She was babbling now, and she knew it – but maybe if she could play it off as no big deal, he wouldn’t take it so poorly...?

“You… you made this? For me?” He asked, his voice lacking its usual pomposity. For a moment he really did seem like that little grub she saw in every other bubble.

“Yes.”

“Oh… well,” he let it unfurl, and held it against himself, “Well, ahem, thank you for your kindness Porrim, it is much appreciated.”

 

Aaaaand  _ there _ was the pomposity back,but he was smiling that tiny smile up at her and –

_ Are you seriously about to cry over this?? Pull yourself together! _

 

Luckily, as he tugged the jumper over his head, she had a moment to blink the incipient tears away. It was maybe a little big on him, but he turned this way and that, and then gave himself a little hug –

A part of her  _ ached  _ to reach out for him, and tug him in close –

 

And then Kankri gave a little cough, and the moment passed.

 

“It’s – um, it’s very nice. My thanks again. And you – you found the perfect colour, too.”

That bright, dangerous red now matched the blush rising in his cheeks.

She knew it wouldn’t be long before he was back to his usual nonsense, but for now, in this bubble, in this moment, he was  _ her’s _ , and that was what mattered.

  
  
  
  


**_Who’ll make the shroud? “I”, said the Beetle_ **

**_“With my thread and needle, I’ll make the shroud.”_ **

  
  
  


*

 

 

**It had been a day like any other, when she’d come across the tiny grub, stuck on its back, its little legs swiping at the air, while it wailed loud enough to bring the roof down.**

**She’d carefully helped him flip back over, and found herself confronted with a bright, red –** **_wrong_ ** **– carapace.**

**“Oh-!”**

**Later, much later, she’d look back on this night, and wonder why she’d done what she did. But in that moment, it wasn’t a choice. She knew it, as she scooped him up - and his soft little head had nuzzled into her arms as naturally as if he’d always meant to be here – there was only ever one thing she could do.**

**It was impulsive, certainly, but it was as it fate had suddenly seized her by the throat – she had no choice. So she ran, with her precious, perilous charge carefully wrapped in her robes, until she came to their first, desolate hiding place.**

**When she unwrapped him, he sucked in a shaky breath, and she knew he was going to start with those bellowing cries again – cries that could very well bring their deaths down upon them.**

**“It’s okay, little one,” she whispered, gently stroking his cheek, “You’re safe with me now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, you hear me? You’re safe, my little one.”**

  
  
  


**_All the birds of the air fell a-sighing and a-sobbing,_ **

**_When they heard the bell toll for poor Cock Robin_ ** **_._ **

 

*

 


End file.
